Potter and Me, Round Three
by DamonSucks
Summary: What an idiot.  Admission to this gathering was strictly invite only, and he'd brought a friend.    I can't believe this boy is supposed to be deemed my equal.
1. Potter and Me, Round Three

_June 24, 1995_

_Dear Diary,_

_Blast, how do I keep these bloody words from disappearing? What is the point of a diary if I can't read what I wrote? The privacy precaution seemed like such a good idea at the time..._

_Anyway, today was a terrible day; even the acquisition of a body was bittersweet, but I'll get to that later._

_The day started out well enough. The yearlong plot to kidnap Potter was going perfectly, though I was terribly impatient by this point; I was so looking forward to avada kedavraing his ass. It was Barty Crouch's idea to wait until the final task to bring Potter here. Had they done it my way, Potter would have arrived the moment Crouch got him alone, which he did on numerous occasions throughout the year, but that's Barty for you. So typical of him to have such a grandiose plan, but what could I do? I was just an ugly baby and still would be if it weren't for my MFS (most faithful servant). It did give the whole scheme a lovely story arch, though, and I have to admit I'm a sucker for the dramatics._

_I'll get the full report from Crouch later, but the basic plan for today was to have Barty zap the rest of the champions in the maze since Potter had proven too incompetent to win on his own. Honestly, if he'd gotten any more help, Barty might as well have done the entire tournament for him. In fact, from what I hear, my MFS _did _do practically everything, but Potter still managed to botch it up in every way possible._

_I can't believe this boy is supposed to be deemed my equal._

_I had Nagini chase Wormtail around the graveyard while I waited. It was entertainment for me and much-needed exercise for him, a win-win situation. Finally, Potter appeared—Dumbledore's golden boy, aged fourteen. He'd certainly grown handsomer since I'd last seen him three years ago, though he had nothing on my good looks, back in the day. Funny, I didn't recall him having such light hair. And had he gotten contacts? Oh wait, that wasn't him. A twiggy little youth stood beside him. Ah, that was the one._

_What an idiot. Admission to this gathering was strictly invite only, and he'd brought a friend._

_No matter, though, I had the spare killed. Then I went to extra measures to ensure maximum intimidation. I had him tied to my father's headstone and made Wormtail cut off his _entire_ hand, when all I really needed was some flesh—creepy, right? I know, sometimes I surprise myself with my ingenuity. Potter was trembling like the little pussy he is, even though he was trying for the whole "I'm an angry teen" attitude. So I killed his parents, get over it already!_

_I even called all my Death Eaters to come watch, thinking I'd make a little soiree of it. They didn't seem as thrilled as me, just sort of stood there looking scared and apologetic. I mean, after thirteen years without me, you'd think they'd at least _pretend _to have missed me. I didn't even get one hug._

_I didn't let that dampen my mood for long, though. I was sure my MFS would give me a hug when we next met up. Perhaps we could do a lunch date, talk about the good old times and catch up. Er, maybe just the good old times part, seeing as how I spent the greater part of the last fourteen years roaming around half-dead, and he in Azkaban, slowly going mad. But the good times were so good, and there'd be more to come to make up for the wasted years._

_So then I got my body and it seemed alright at first. It was tall and slender, as expected. Rather pale, but I figured that after I killed Harry tonight, a long holiday was long overdue—somewhere sunny, where I could get my tan on. Morale was sure to be low among the wizards once they learned their beloved hero was dead, and I'd still have plenty of time to take over the world after I'd caught some rays. Anyway, I'm sure the world would prefer a beautifully bronzed ruler to a sickly pallid one._

_I challenged Potter to a duel and toyed with him for a bit because I could. Then I used the killing curse at the same time he used the disarming spell. (He's about to die and "expelliarmus" is his spell of choice? And they wonder why I don't take the boy seriously). From there, things got weird. Our spells collided and we floated up off the ground, with this spectacularly beautiful light show going on all around us._

_I couldn't stop to admire it, though, because there were these pulsating beady things in the light connecting our wands. Potter pushed it to connect with my wand and all these ghostly people came out of them. They looked vaguely familiar and I opened my mouth to give them a friendly greeting, but then I realized where I remembered them from—they were the people I'd murdered._

_Well, this was a rather awkward reunion for me. And to make things worse, they were all chatting with Potter, chumming up to him even though they'd come out of _my _wand. I found this rude, as he wouldn't have even met them if it weren't for me murdering them. I took this moment to look around me at the pretty lights, figuring it wouldn't matter if I let my attention wander for just one moment._

_They suddenly mobbed me, and at first I thought it was because they had finally noticed me and were happy to see me, but then I glimpsed Potter getting away, and realized they'd been plotting while I was distracted. I shouted for my Death Eaters to catch him, but you know how they are. It's one of those generic requirements of henchmen—to have ridiculously horrible aim, and I wasn't about to go against _that_ status quo when looking into prospective henchmen._

_It was so frustrating to have Potter so close but lose him yet again. I should have just killed him and gotten it over with back when he was tied to my dad's headstone, but I was just having too much fun making his skin burn and watching him writhe in pain._

_So anyway, I threw myself into flying leap in a valiant attempt to catch the boy, but he was already gone and I ended up tripping on a headstone and getting hit by one of Avery's spells. The humiliation was just too much and I couldn't take it anymore. I fled from the graveyard weeping._

_After wallowing for a bit, I apparated to Hogsmeade with a new plan. Sure they'd all be too busy with the Potter boy whining about my return to notice one extra cloaked wizard wandering about, I waltzed right into Hogwarts and headed for the dumb boulder's office. I needed my diary—it had been my only source of comfort and best friend when I was younger._

_I snagged this from his desk and quickly conjured a replacement diary, then fixed the destroyed pages of this one. As I sat down to write in here, I happened to glance at—_

_Crap, I think the dumb old door is coming. BRB, as they say._


	2. Mini Death Eaters

_June 25, 1995_

_Dear Diary,_

_My MFS has been kissed!_

_Hm. I wonder what would happen if a dementor kissed me, seeing as how my soul is split in seven so it'd only really have access to the one little part. Maybe I'll give it a try, since I've never been kissed. Or maybe I'll ask Bella to kiss me once I spring her from Azkaban. That's my next plan of action and I'm quite excited for it—I do so love adventures._

_But back to Barty, about whom I'm devastated. I don't know why Dumbledore insists on ruining my life at every turn. I could deal with his dooming my career all those years ago when he refused to give me a teaching position, though I don't understand why he turned me down. I mean, I'm great with children._

_But delving into my personal life and messing with my Death Eaters—that was just plain cold. My MFS was the closest thing I've ever had to a friend, other than my dear diary, of course. Well, I suppose Barty was more of a slave, but the point is that Dumbledore has now destroyed the two closest relationships I have ever had, the cruel, cruel man. Whatever am I to do without my MFS—our lunch date plans are ruined and everything's just gone horribly wrong..._

_I am NOT cr—oops I meant to say that out loud._

_By the way, I snuck into the Slytherin dormitories and am in my old bed right now, which happens to be the Malfoy boy's, Dragon or something. Stupid name if you ask me, but then again his father is an imbecile, and I can't very well hold that against the boy. He's sniveling in an armchair right now, sulking the loss of his bed._

_But _I_ certainly wasn't crying. I heard Crabbe and Goyle's kids muttering to each other that it looked as though I was crying, so I yelled, "I am NOT crying, you fools!" Because I am the Dark Lord and a dark lord does not cry, otherwise he wouldn't be much of a dark lord at all._

_I don't think they quite realize who I am, and so are rather oblivious to the fact that I could reduce them to ash with the flick of my wand. I didn't think there was anyone dumber than Crabbe and Goyle, but their sons are sure giving them a run for their money._

_I feel almost as though I'm hanging out with miniature Death Eaters, actually, except that they're even more pathetic than their fathers. I'm still angry with Lucious. Maybe I'll take this opportunity to mess with his kid as punishment. Oh wait, I was talking about something else. Later, then. Stupid brats are such a distraction._

_So my MFS will be of no help to me now. I heard Dumbledore talking to the portraits about what happened. He had to wake them up first since I'd charmed them all to sleep when I entered, but he didn't notice anything else to indicate I'd been there. I left Dumbledore's around midnight and swung by Barty Crouch's office to pick up his report on his time at Hogwarts, which I'll add in here after this excerpt._

_Right, Dumbledore had interrupted me right when I was about to say something important. Even manages to ruin my life without meaning to, that man. Now where was I? If this stupid diary didn't erase all my words the moment I wrote them then I'd be able to go back and find out. As it is, I've got a lot on my mind these days; being the Dark Lord is no small task, so having the words I write remain visible is the _least_ I could ask for. Let me think..._

_Ah yes, I sat down and glanced at one of the doodads on his desk, jumping at the portrait of an ugly face set in a silver frame. Most of Dumbledore's gadgets are pretty cool, but the face made me cringe to look at. It had pale grey skin with slits for eyes that were red and eerie, and the nose was completely flat. As I leaned forward to inspect it, I realized it was my own face looking back at me in a mirror._

_I'd once been beautiful, but now I looked hideous! I used to have these luscious, silky black locks—and not the greasy lank sort that Severus Snape has. Snape was a no-show at my little party tonight, by the way, but maybe it's a good thing because that man disgusts me. I can scarcely stand near him without gagging, and trust me, I am familiar with and highly tolerant of unpleasant things. But Snape manages to go beyond my limits—I can even sense the filthiness of the man through occlumency. It's as though he makes a conscious effort to repel people._

_I'm considering instilling a hygiene protocol for my Death Eaters, actually; I need them looking fresh if they're to keep a good reputation whilst helping me take over the world. Although, considering my grotesque new looks, perhaps they should adopt the Snape way instead, so that I look better in comparison._

_I suppose my looks could be to my advantage—intimidation factor and all. Oh, who am I kidding! My looks were my favourite part of myself and what I was most looking forward to when I got my new body. How will I ever get Bella to give me a kiss looking as I do?_

_It's well past midnight now, so I'm going to sleep. It has been a very stressful day and a dark lord needs his beauty rest, though I doubt it'll do me much good now since I haven't got any beauty le—_

_Excuse me, I had to go hex Crabbe or Goyle's son—can't actually tell them apart. They were staring at me because I began to sob, erm, cough loudly. I'll have to talk to Crabbe and Goyle Sr. about their children's manners. It's not polite to stare, especially when one is overcome with an unavoidable emotional, uh, coughing fit. And I should also speak to Malfoy about his crybaby pansy son. Honestly, he's much too old to be crying as he is._

_This is why I avoid slobbery little brats at all costs. I'll just have to put up with them until tomorrow morning and then I'm off. They had better not snore. Well, good night._

_I wonder if one of these mini Death Eaters might lend me a set of pyjamas for the night..._


End file.
